


A Smaller God

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: BDSM, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-25
Updated: 2005-06-25
Packaged: 2018-05-31 05:01:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6456961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little bit of fill-in of the Joss fades for the AtS episode <i>Apocalypse, Nowish</i>, in which Lilah came to Wes dressed as Fred.  NOT a fluffy happy fic, but a PWP/character study that defies the PWP label a bit.  Again, DARK Wesley/Lilah, hard NC-17.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Smaller God

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

Wesley Wyndham-Pryce had long been a student of the dark arts, both those magical and those of man. He had thrown himself into their study at an early age, partly through duty but mostly through necessity; by virtue of his name he was to be a Watcher, and to be a Watcher meant the study of the bleakness of both the human and demon worlds. Ever eager to please, he had been an avid student, reading voraciously and honing his skills in the practice of magic to the very pinnacle of his abilities. Although he was quite well-versed in the occult—few could outdo him in that regard, a fact that gave him the only pride in his career as a Watcher that he could find it within himself to own—it was human darkness and the skills born of it with which he was most intimately familiar. Rituals were problematic, incantations mutable and complicated; but a well-placed verbal barb, a slap or the turn of a key outside a dark room—arts such as those were both simple and effective, torture exquisite in its very banality. 

He had been raised this way, trained to expect a leather strap across his flesh when he proved disobedient, to welcome the silence and freedom that came from being locked in a dark closet even as his consciousness screamed for sensation, to expect words that bit more sharply into his soul than belts or angry hands. In many ways, Wesley was a masterwork pieced together by the thousand small tortures visited upon him throughout his life. If Angel had believed that holding a pillow over his face was enough to turn him catatonic, to make him lose his will, then he had truly never known Wesley at all. Angelus may have been the Scourge of Europe in conjunction with three other master vampires, but Roger Wyndham-Pryce had managed to be a much more devastating scourge all on his own. Against that standard, Angelus and his petty vendettas were merely amateurish.

As he stared at Lilah, sitting on the table across from him looking for all the world like sin personified, he forced himself to reflect on all the possible causes for the urges coursing through him, finding a home in the erection he wasn’t trying to will away or conceal. For what would be the point? She had come here to arouse him, to awaken within him a darkness that she thought hidden… to seduce him to evil with her body and words. How could she have known that her work was mostly done long before he’d ever set eyes on the cold but flawless beauty before him?

Vibrant images fueled by her presence and his own long-concealed urges rushed through his brain, and he was forced into the not-quite sudden realization that his desires were perhaps much darker than he'd ever allowed himself to acknowledge. After all, hadn't he chased Fred through the Hyperion with an axe not so very long ago? Oh, he had been possessed--and here he couldn't restrain the snort of derision at his own meager defenses and the lie they had conjured. He had most certainly been possessed, but by his own basest nature; that fact he was finally coming to realize and accept. He remembered the intoxicating scent of her fear, the vivid thoughts of plowing into her and marking her as his through bruises and welts, and the resultant erection that had made his pursuit of her difficult. Perhaps there had always been more of the predatory monster in him than he'd ever wanted to believe possible, or perhaps it had been newly awakened by his proximity to the darkest elements of existence. Whatever its cause, he could not ignore that the baseness was simply another legacy, aside from his own hijacked destiny and tainted dreams, for which he could thank his father.

He’d always presented himself as a priggish twit, tied up in notions of duty and honor, and for so much of his life he’d been able to convince himself that that was exactly what he was. But with the Council’s ouster, with Angel’s acceptance, with Virginia’s rejection, with Fred’s rebuff of his advances, with Justine’s and then Angel’s murder attempts… with each successive step out of the light and towards the grey he’d given over a bit more, allowed the darkness in to make the grey more understandable, more visible. He’d always managed to hide it well, he thought to himself, this monster lurking beneath the surface with the urge to dominate and destroy. So he’d give Lilah credit for perhaps not knowing what she’d set herself up for when she walked in looking like a pornographic fantasy version of Fred: short pleated skirt, knotted white blouse over dark lingerie, thigh-high hose, stilettos, pigtails, and glasses. 

She may well believe that because she’d sold her soul to the devil she could fathom and even outdo his own darkness; if that was truly the case, what a foolish bitch she truly was. She thought to understand him, to lure him to her side with appeals to the inner Wesley she thought she glimpsed; she had seen only its shadow, a fact of which she was on the verge of becoming painfully aware. A grim, cold smile fixed itself on his face as he perused her flawless body dispassionately despite the desperate hardness of his cock. Yes, she may work for the devil, but Wesley Wyndham-Pryce had been born to and raised by him. If she thought that teasing him with the promise of mild kink would assuage the abyss inside him that she and so many others had awakened, she was sadly misguided.

“Come here,” he ordered, and he watched as her expression flickered between indignant and aroused. Poor little controlling bitch, he thought sardonically, it’s her game and she doesn’t even know how it’s played. Her hands drifted upwards to the drugstore glasses of her costume, but he simply couldn’t let her remove them; how she entered this encounter, she would play it—that he solemnly vowed. 

“Leave them on,” he commanded quietly, his tones low and husky as he watched her approach him. Straddling him, knees in the chair, she looked every bit the wanton goddess, and he allowed her a few brief moments of control as she devoured his mouth. Gods, but the woman had a talented tongue. He groaned inwardly as he felt her tease him, sliding her tongue slowly along the length of his, telling him without words of a prowess he had already been certain she had. Fisting his hands in her hair, twining them hard enough to pull and create genuine discomfort, he pulled her back and away from him. She looked at him quizzically before attempting to lean forward again, but another firmer tug of her hair froze her in her tracks.

“Suck me.”

She turned shocked eyes to him, and he couldn’t help but smile bitterly; apparently she didn’t think a prim and proper young Brit like him would know such words. Her eyes widened in time with his smile, and he realized that she must have seen there the same coldness that he felt—deep, all-encompassing, and down to his bones. He wanted her to stop looking at him—to stop trying to see him; loosening his grip on her hair, he instead pressed his hands down against her shoulders, guiding her until she slipped backwards out of the chair and into the floor. She gaped for a moment from the shock, and he took advantage by leaning forward and taking her mouth in a short, brutal kiss before pulling her forward to rest between his now-parted knees.

“Don’t make me tell you again, Lilah.”

Something in his voice must have told her that crossing him would not have been advisable, because her hands slid slowly up his thighs as she reseated herself on her knees. He tugged his shirt over his head as she unbuckled his belt and pulled it from his trousers, but he caught her wrist as she moved to put it aside.

“If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll keep it.”

He doubled the leather and gripped it in his right hand, resting on the arm of the chair before raising his hips to allow her to pull down the denim she had just unfastened. He knew that he should feel ridiculous, sitting naked in his living room in the middle of the day, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to care. His thoughts were traveling nowhere beyond his erection and the beautiful little bitch in front of him who was going to take care of it.

He hissed in a breath as he felt the first touch of her tongue against his cock, a long lick up the underside of his shaft that ended in a flickering tease of the head. He groaned as she repeated the action again and again, moving in a slow circle around him until there was no fraction of an inch that hadn’t been teased by her tongue. She wrapped her hand around his shaft and began slow, firm strokes, squeezing just tightly enough to cause the most pleasurable sort of pain; her busy hand had temporarily distracted him, and he was caught off guard at the feeling of that wicked tongue laving his balls, teasing and rolling them alternately before she sucked them into her mouth. His hips shot up as his left hand returned to her hair, holding her in place and forcing her to continue the tease. He gazed down at her and smirked in amusement as he watched her shift uncomfortably, clenching and unclenching her thighs in an effort to bring herself some measure of release. 

“None of that, Lilah. You’ll come when I’ve decided it’s time.”

She looked up at him then, full fire in her eyes, and he could tell that she was on the verge of walking out. He merely held her gaze and kept his hand in her hair as he laid out his rules. “You will not come without my permission. You will do what I ask when I ask and, if I’m specific, how I ask. Or you will not come at all. You walked in here and set up this game, Lilah. Either play or leave, but don’t waste my time.”

Her eyes narrowed for a split second, and the only answer he received was the feel of her mouth sliding slowly down his cock, engulfing him fully until her lips were wrapped tightly around the base. Wesley was momentarily stunned; he didn’t think he’d ever been so deep inside anyone before, and the feeling of her throat tensing around him was simply incredible. His right hand shot down to join his left, but he had forgotten the leather that was gripped in his fist until it whipped through the air and came down hard in a perfect lash across her back. He nearly came as he felt Lilah’s throat contract desperately around him as she fought the pleasured pain that the lash had brought. He sensed that that was the moment she had given in, given herself over completely to his control; she slid her hands down to cup and tease his balls and moaned, the vibrations traveling through his shaft and into his very soul as she shuddered in a very nearly-averted orgasm. Smart girl… she’d minded the rules. 

“Did you like that, Lilah?” Wesley taunted, taking the end of the leather and teasing it over exposed flesh, up her arms and down the side of her neck as she continued to tease him with her mouth and throat, drawing back and moving forward faster as she met the rocking of his hips. The moans she attempted to stifle were answer enough, coupled as they were with new flurries of movement from her tongue against the sensitive veins and ridges that detailed his cock. “It seems as though you do,” he murmured, slapping the end of the belt lightly against her cheek, just hard enough to stun and sting a bit. This time she couldn’t hold back her cry, and she pulled her mouth away, gasping and looking at him through eyes both pleading and vengeful.

“What do you want, Lilah? Tell me what you want and you might receive it. But I didn’t tell you you could stop touching me, did I? Put your hands back on me.”

As if in a trance, she wrapped her hand around his shaft and began to stroke, circling her hand as she reached the top before sliding back to grasp the base almost painfully. At his terse nod, she whispered huskily, “I need to come, Wesley.”

“Do you really?” he responded almost disinterestedly as he thrust his hips into her hand. “Then might I suggest you finish what you’ve started, and I’ll decide whether or not you’ve earned it once I myself have come.”

“I don’t have to take this!” she replied hotly, her hand coming up again to the glasses so integral to her outfit.

“Then leave, Lilah. You sought me out; I didn’t go searching for you. If you want me to make you come, then you’re going to do what I say. You will start by leaving the fucking glasses on, as I told you earlier. And if you stay, you can consider this your last warning—I won’t tolerate your challenging me again.”

She glared at him for a moment, a cold look that he returned in kind until she caved first, turning her eyes downward and returning her mouth to the head of his cock, sliding her tongue roughly across it before engulfing him once more and taking him all the way in. She swallowed around him, the contractions of her throat proving torturous to him, and he felt that his control was on the verge of breaking. The movement of her mouth, her hand, was just too much, and the fact that he could look down and see only her glasses and her hair and let himself believe that it was Fred touching him, ministering to him… he felt his balls tighten, felt the orgasm begin, and he grabbed one end of the belt in each hand before banding it around Lilah’s shoulders, holding her tightly in place as he spilled down her throat.

Head pressed tightly against the back of the chair, eyes closed to allow him to hold on to the fantasy of Fred on her knees before him for a second longer, he panted as he slowly came back to himself. Feeling her pushing against the leather constraint held in place by his hands, he simply tightened his hold, pinning her in place before murmuring, “You’ll stand up when I tell you that you may, Lilah, and not a moment sooner. Honestly, you can be remarkably daft for such an intelligent woman.”

He felt her shudder against his legs, and knew that lust was consuming her; he should have known that someone as thirsty for control as she was would find it unbearably erotic to be dominated. He released his left hand’s grasp of the belt as his right dropped to the side, leather pooling on the floor for only an instant before he snapped it back up, relishing the slap that it made across her flesh and the pained, pleasured gasp that she gave as she looked up at him with hungry eyes. The self-righteous fire was gone, replaced by burning lust and blinding need, and he honestly couldn’t decide whether he was glad to have broken her or not.

“You may stand, Lilah.” She rose in time with his words, hands raising to the knot that held her blouse closed but stilled at his next sharp question. “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking… I thought…”

“I don’t want you to think, Lilah. One of us can do that quite well enough, and I’m perfectly content that it should be me. I think I’ve proven by this point that I’m far better at it. The outfit stays. Now bend over and brace your arms on the couch. Part your legs, and stand still.”

He was surprised at how quickly she complied, and the slight tremors in her arms told him that she was nearly desperate in her longing. It fed something inside of him to see this wickedly proud woman reduced to this, something to which he didn’t really want to devote much attention. He stood slowly, languorously, stopping a few feet behind her and just watching her intently. He reached forward and flipped the ridiculously short skirt up over her back and slid his fingers under the waistband of the tiny lace panties that were now her only protection. He drew them slowly down her legs, watching as they slid down to the floor but gripping one thigh with an iron hand as she attempted to step up and out of them.

“Leave them on.” The thought of those tiny little knickers serving as a hobble, keeping her in place, was simply too strikingly erotic an image to let go. She whimpered a bit but acquiesced, sliding her legs as far apart as their delicate restraints would allow. He circled her slowly, taking in every aspect of the tableau before him before coming to a halt facing her. He reached down and unclasped her bra with surprisingly gentle fingers before shoving it and her blouse roughly aside, allowing her breasts to spill out within the pervertedly innocent frame of her stark white blouse. He removed the bands from her hair, having noticed how undone the sleek pigtails had become during her previous attentions; he finger-combed the strands to smoothness before retying them into the little girl fashion she had chosen. He bent and pressed his lips to hers, gently at first and then more hungrily, investigating her mouth slowly with his tongue before pulling away and moving around her again.

He knew that his tenderness was confusing her; was, in fact, relying upon it. It made the unrestrained shriek that escaped her when the belt slapped across her ass that much more satisfying, made the red streak glow that much more brightly. He’d been on the other end of a strapping far too many times in his own life, and had always wondered how it would feel to be in control of the punishment, to be the one administering the lashes that left someone quivering in fear and sniveling with pain. This was different, of course… he wanted her quivering with lust, and he wanted her screaming his name… but the control itself was as glorious as he had always believed it must be. The faint twitches of hardness that had begun in his cock as he had prepared her had become almost spasmodic clenches through a now fully-erect member; that one line of red had made him harder than any other fantasy, any other act, that had ever crossed his mind.

He smiled grimly and snapped the belt across her flesh again, raising another welt and watching with no small amount of amusement as her knees buckled and she struggled to keep her arms locked and herself upright. The third lash came much more quickly, leaving a mark that cut through the cross left by the other two, and he was overcome with the desire to see her face—to watch her as she fought the lust and pain brought about by the bite of the leather into her skin. He moved in front of her again, using one pigtail to pull her head back and raise her gaze to his; had he cared for her more, he would’ve been humbled by the desire that he found there. As it was, he merely placed his lips against hers and whispered, “Scream my name,” as he snapped the belt again across her flesh, this time marking her hip and thigh. Her shriek of his name and the look of pained ecstasy on her face appeased him for the moment, and he moved back behind her, raining a series of short blows along the tender flesh where her thigh and ass joined. Her shrieks had faded into gasps and pants, pleas that consisted only of breathless repetitions of his name, and he noticed for the first time that her juices had begun to trail down her inner thighs. 

He slid one finger between her slickened lips, savoring the groan and the tremble that overtook her as the calloused pad of his finger teased her clit. He allowed her only a few brief touches, quick and torturous circles of the sensitized flesh, before he slid his hand back farther and shoved three fingers inside her dripping passage without warning. He brought the belt up slowly, sliding the leather up her now-damp inner thigh teasingly as he thrust his fingers into her in an almost punishing rhythm. He could feel her begin to shake, could feel her muscles begin to contract around his fingers; just as suddenly as he had slid them inside her, he tore them from her, leaving her trembling and begging for release as she hung helplessly on the edge.

“Please, Wesley, God… I need… please let me come.” 

Her only response was the slap of the belt against her clit and the sudden penetration of four fingers rather than the three he had allowed her before, but the combination of the sensations proved too much. She managed to choke out a final, muffled, “Wesley, please,” as she fought in vain for control over the orgasm that seemed determined to take her with or without his permission.

She couldn’t see the pleased smile that curved his lips, couldn’t tell that he was glorying in how well and truly broken she was; he knew that she was blind to everything but the feeling of him, and it was part of what allowed him to be so free in his own expression of the glee he was experiencing as he let his dark side out to play. His guttural command, “Come, Lilah. You have my permission,” was his only response, and he slammed his hand into her with renewed force as he felt her muscles contract around him.

Her arms buckled and she toppled forward, her knees against the armrest of the couch all that was holding her upright, and he quickly made a decision. Ripping his hand from her again and looping the belt through the buckle, he shoved her to the side; she lost her balance and landed in the floor on her hands and knees, and he quickly wrapped the noose he’d made of the belt around her hands before wrapping the other end around the leg of the coffee table, snapping it back through the buckle and locking it tight.

“You’re mine now, Lilah… you do realize this?” he bit out as he positioned himself behind her, teasing her clit with the pressure of his engorged cock as he grabbed the ridiculous pigtails in his hands. He surged into her with one long thrust, glorying in her cries, and panted in time with his punishing thrusts, “My slut. My glorious… little… deviant… bitch. What does it mean, Lilah? That hell wouldn’t want me… but you do? What does that say… about you… about me?”

Her moans and whimpers were practically sobs now as she threw herself back against him, rocking into him with equal force. He was slamming into her now, moving with a force that he hadn’t even realized he’d possessed, taking her as violently as he could. She couldn’t possibly answer him, and if she was smart, she wouldn’t; he’d heard quite enough from her for one lifetime, and she seemed at least smart enough to realize it. This was all he wanted from her; a tight little quim to satisfy his urges and someone upon whom he could let himself go. He wanted to forget who he was supposed to be and glory in the darkest essence of who he truly was. The pain of the carpet burning into his flesh fed the primal force that was powering him, and he was sorry for a moment that he’d used the belt to bind her hands; it might have been better wrapped around that slender throat, but he’d just have to make do. One hand left her hair to wrap around the front of her neck, squeezing just tightly enough to make her lightheaded, and he bent forward across her back to whisper, “You will come for me now, Lilah, or you won’t be allowed.”

As if all she had been awaiting was his command, she convulsed wildly around him, squeezing his cock mercilessly and digging her hands into the leather that bound them as she sobbed brokenly, “Oh God… oh god… Christ… Wesley…” before fading into mindless sounds made breathier by the pressure of his hand against her windpipe.

His hand tightened further, spurring a new round of contractions from her, and he ground out “God… isn’t… here… anymore” as he slammed into her and came in powerful spurts. 

The orgasm felt more like an exorcism than a release, and he felt the surge of lust and domineering fury leach from him with each pulse of his cock. He held on until it was finished and then rocked backwards, pulling himself from her unceremoniously and sitting, frozen, on his heels for a moment. He leaned forward stiffly and unfastened the belt, unwinding it from both the table and her wrists before tossing it aside and standing up.

“I’m going to shower, Lilah. It would be best if you weren’t here when I returned.”

He closed the door without looking back and turned the water to scalding, slumped against the wall until it turned to ice. He would’ve expected more turmoil; he wasn’t sure what it meant that he seemed to be in perfect harmony with what he had just… unleashed upon Lilah. He walked out of the bathroom and back into the living room, knowing that she would be gone, but he stopped in the doorway in surprise. Centered on the coffee table was his belt, neatly coiled, and atop it lay her glasses.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who had found inimitable release in the blackness that they’d just traversed. And he wasn’t sure what it meant that he was completely at peace with the knowledge that they’d soon be enmeshed in it again.


End file.
